The apparent insanity of inmates
and prisoners
and addicts, conspiracy theorists and paranoids,
does not prove,
nor necessarily even suggest,
the keepers are not also self-entitled nuts
with unhealthy powers,
authorities,
delegated detached responsibilities
loyal to ratchet race competitions.
Passion Story

When you are crucified, naked, poor
and occupied by Roman yangish powerful voices
and Win/Lose commodity values,
unhealthy fought and sold colonizing authorities,
irresponsible power occupiers,
violators of healthy green peace objectives
applicable to any sanctuary and asylum
with humane organic embodied rituals and behaviors
yet still Win/Lose divine punishing evolution machine minded,
we have been historic asylum invited
to purge messianic homeless egos
on HolonicSpirit’s centering Earth-cross,
rather than remain comparatively imprisoned by traumas
to the disassociating left or right.

Princess Goldie was homeless
somewhere within her Gaian ruling reign.
She walked lost
through this morning’s reforesting project,
learning to spring back together
what had fallen into last night’s cold morbidity.

Princess Golden was hungry
for WinWin rules of nutritional global play.
Her tummy rumbled
as she saw a WhiteHouse
next to a swamp of punishing nettles
not quite distant enough
for peaceful conservation.

She knocked on the WhiteHouse forest floor
but no answer
so she tried the closed door
winning wealthy place
yet losing future healthy space
for hibernating bears and bulls.

Princess Gaia opened what no one had denied.
Then tried to break her fast,
but the first red bowl was too fundamentally hot,
the second, blue, too terrifyingly secular
academic
theoretical
abstractly cold,
while the green third, though smaller heard,
was ideally cooperative communing
just right for immigration.

She tried YangBear’s hard seat of authority
then YinBear’s heart seat of extended family responsibilities
before breaking BabyBear’s imprisonment
in loser retributions
attributions of autonomous sin,
too small for growing winner optimizations
restorations of wealthy health.

Princess Golden
ruled with great nightmarish nappy time
chaotic lack of ecotherapeutic resting school,
then bilaterally governed within matriarchal complex forest
networks of too-soft nurture,
then fell asleep just right
in beds for polypathic dreams
tricameral

Some would argue these local celebrities
and self-promoting treasures
to posterity
rather over-run everything,
and surely we could find some truth
in this way of seeing,
but we are learning a spirit of generosity
invites more healthy pollinators,
honey bees
rather than swarms of angry hornets
nesting on the sidelines.

This Town Democratic Committee
decided to invest in a planning retreat
and were looking for a Permaculture Designer
to facilitate,
preferably someone local,
and not too obnoxious
and holier than thou
about ecological wisdom
raging against short-term economic realities
of elective politics.

Which is where I came in
to this local municipality
as Zero through Regional Four Zone frame.

Looking back,
it was fortunate I knew no one
of these Committee stalwarts
or we would never have arrived even as far as the initial client interview.

You see,
in Permaculture Design,
the initial screening interviews
work in both directions.

First,
the Committee’s Secretary emailed me
to ask if I would be interested
and even remotely qualified,
and, if so, how much
and could I possibly cut whatever that is
in half
and be flexible on scheduling,
especially scheduling of payments
for services rendered.

Second,
if all that goes reasonably bloodless,
the Permaculture Designer interviews the client.

So I told the Secretary,
and thereby everyone who was anyone in town,
that I had recently completed a Client interview
for the White House,
or at least started one,
thinking this might suggest qualifying experience,
but she was unimpressed,
possibly even depressed,
probably repressed
and feeling suppressed
about that particular client,
and recommended taking the White House out
of future resumes.

Anyway,
long polycultural outcomes story short,
we did get to a Client Interview
which began and largely ended their planning retreat.

As always,
I begin with what purposes they have in mind
for the property in question.
If a real estate agent
or maybe a sharky developer,
were also Permaculture Design Certified
this would be the highest and best interdependent uses question.

The multi-sectoral responses
are all about healthy nutrients.
One committee member thinks a healthier, more robust, educational system
is today’s magic button.
Another thinks a healthier employment market.
Especially a Farmer’s Market, adds another,
with a wink to subtly let me now
she and I are kindred cooperative organic spirits.

Their wish list leaves little to not wish for
except for fewer homeless and hungry people
bumming cigarettes in front of the downtown real estate office
and over in the Chamber of Commerce’s newly paved
and extremely well-lit parking lot.

We want healthy, but cheaper, water
and more robust waste disposal systems
and more energy and heat and gasoline for less cash
and of course lower taxes are healthier taxes
and vibrant police and fire and medical emergency services
and, yes, even healthier food
in the cafeterias,
again with a wink
from the same, now creepy, committee member.

I summarize
It sounds like you all agree
we need more integrated robust systems
growing health for all residents of Zones Zero through Four.

Except maybe not roosters
within town limits.

They gratefully agree
with obvious relief
as it is nearly time for Happy Hour,
which becomes something of an understatement
unless Happy Hours are, by definition,
timeless.

We never did get to the second question
about what are our unhappy waste streams.
Nor the third,
about how these might shrink
to swell more inclusive Happy Hours
for Zones Zero through Four.

I suppose your god
could remain both egocentric
and become more ecocentric,
just as the White House
could remain a temporary shelter
for those empowered by co-empathic wisdom
of our humane species’ ultimate homelessness
without a healthy Earth.

But, in White Houses of this sort,
the gates, if needed,
open from both sides.
The perimeter fence grows lower slower
which is not higher faster self-absorption.
The lawns North and South and East and West
extend toward all our homeless cousins,
Elders not yet burned and buried from healthy memory,
and those yet to become born from matriarchal wombs
into a more sustainable revolution
of shared homelessness.

Where Earth is home
sufficient for all,
or we all continue toward climates of homelessness
in gated Only White Houses Matter
of nationalistic greed
far surpassing Earth’s need
for vulnerability and integrity
of a multiculturally homeless
co-messianic
co-redemptive
recreative bodhisattva warrior;
a reweaving god
of and for omnipotently co-operative love.

We all have emerged from one nutritiously multicultural heart,
one sunlight into
one DNA patterned and structuring rhythm compliance
with resonant RNA.

Predestined to remain within harmonic restraint limits,
yet free within these interdependent limits
to play ecopolitical WinWin healthywealth all day
every day and night
each in our own sacredly native nature way.

Utopia is polypathically multicultural.
We all know what Paradise dreams look and smell and taste and feel like
to a girl baby in Africa
as to an old gringo in the Americas.
These are the opposite of Hell,
ubiquitous monocultural excesses melting into LoseLose ecopolitical climates,
regardless of where and when you land and plant and grow on Earth.

What, then, are the ecopolitical merits and demerits
of a social justice,
much less an entire Earth Justice,
that we intentionally take off the scales of value-balance
when blindly thinking and speaking of criminal/victimization justice?

For which of us has never lived in both landscapes,
together;
that of utopian benign intent
and that of environmental terrorist outcomes?

And when do we most need and long for justice,
when we are well fed and among healthy social friendships,
or when we are incarcerated, without family and friends,
without good nutritional food,
shared meals feeding fertile listening and speaking?

If we seek ecopolitical wisdom,
if we can remember what it is to be homeless,
to become hungry for food and love,
to be ostracized and humiliated for poverty of positive social resources,
all of us remembering our moments with and among and as
economic and political non-elites
struggling together,
like twins for evil and good,
then we can co-empathically trust
that our best optimal criminal/victim justice
is discerned through ecological,
ecopolitically balancing,
peace-filling mutually mentored climates of graceful co-arising mercy.

Ecopolitical justice
always begins with (0)-sum Mercy!
I know we’re all doing the best we can
but this is not yet regenerative enough!
Not yet healthy enough!
in-between sustainable climates for elites within all us non-elites.

I am about as wild and crazy as society will allow
without confinement for my own protection.

Whenever I read a self-marketing sign

Please Help…
Vacancies of home and stomach,
Needing to be filled.

I feed the bearers of these signs
of society’s emargination
into raw and naked
erase and start again.

When I notice long-haired grunge,
low-budget gypsys with backpacks and shopping carts,
heading toward me asking to become excused
for asking for things they need,
I head in their direction
to find our best redirection
together.

My husband begrudges every dime
and points out I’m too wild
for pouring mostly alcohol
or worse down throats
without a home.
He claims they’re addicted suicides
waiting for death’s embrace.

But, I say this is too often true
and who am I to judge
those who explore doing their best
of worst available options
given all their dark stuff come before
through self-medication
mixed with sheltered soups
and public kitchens?

Were I or he on that street
rejected by our own history of defeat
I would hope to find those wise enough to stay
with me long enough
to help medicate my way,
to suffer with my emptiness
and ask me please to stay,
tell them all my blues,
sing and dance this suffering away.

I’m retired.
Have more cash than I could ever need,
and don’t want to go out that way,
hoarding funds for those who already have too much
while somewhere out there stands
a homeless sign whose bearer
prefers to drink her lunch.

If our legacy composes
both what we do for love
and what we do not do from fear,
If both our action and omissions,
our positives and negatives,
remain behind to feed and haunt our kids,
then why would I not choose
to offer medicines of caring
when neglect is so clearly that of which
this homelessness was made.